


Rocks At My Window

by WrtrGrl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Hot Chocolate, Ice Skating, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27556309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrtrGrl/pseuds/WrtrGrl
Summary: All Harry wants to do is snuggle up in bed and dream of warmth and kisses and a silvery eyed someone. Too bad that someone has other plans.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 113
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020





	Rocks At My Window

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gemfae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemfae/gifts).



**Rocks At My Window**

A rock, the third one in as many minutes, clanks sharply against the window. Ordinarily, Harry might be concerned about something trying to break through his window, but he’s cosy and warm, and the pleasant dream of warm caresses and curious mouths beckons him back into sleep.

Until another rock clacks against the glass.

Harry whimpers. ‘Ron,’ he says, and burrows further into his bedsheets, squeezing his eyes shut against the offending noise. ‘ _Ron_.’

His best friend continues to snore, oblivious to the world and the insistent patter of what can only be small pebbles against Harry’s window.

Harry finds a spare pillow somewhere around his midsection and, braving the cool night air, flings his arm (and the pillow) out of the scratchy warmth of his blankets. His aim (if wildly throwing a pillow out into the air can be called aim) is true, and it lands with a satisfying thump, punctuated by yet another tap on the window.

‘Ufh,’ Ron grunts. ‘Washapping? Harry? Ugh, Mate, what the fuck?’

Rock. Rock.

‘Something’s at the window,’ says Harry, still refusing to open his eyes.

He tries to keep the dream at the forefront of his mind, hoping to slip back into it once the offending pebbles are dealt with. It doesn’t occur to him to wonder _why_ there are pebbles being thrown at his window, only that they’ve interrupted his sleep and (more pressingly) his exploration of fine, silky hair and a sweet, smirking mouth.

‘So?’ Ron asks, bewildered and still half asleep.

‘Go see what it is, would you?’ asks Harry imploringly.

‘What? Why me? Why couldn’t you do it, if you’re already awake?’

‘M’not awake. Sleep. Dreams. ‘Sides, you’re closest.’

‘Ugh.’ Ron mutters something unpleasant and scathing under his breath, but Harry hears the tell-tale sound of blankets being thrown back and grins in victory.

‘Thank you,’ he murmurs, snuggling down and allowing his subconscious to drift back towards his dream.

The window goes up with a faint _schhick_ , followed by a brief curse. Somewhere outside, a familiar voice echoes back that curse. Harry’s eyes fly open.

More unsavoury comments from Ron. He stomps back across the room and throws himself into bed.

‘It’s for you,’ he grumbles, throwing an arm over his face. ‘Send him away so I can go back to sleep.’

Harry blinks, his eyes wide in the darkness. Him? His dream lurks at the back of his mind, taunting him as his chest tightens in disbelief and hope.

Harry reaches for his glasses, fumbling them as his heart beats a staccato rhythm in his chest.

Glasses in place, he pushes his blankets back and pads across to the window, his pyjama pants pooling around his feet and almost tripping him up. The night air is cool and his breath puffs out against the top pane of glass. He ducks his head to peer out into the frosty street, his breath catching in his throat in a way that isn’t entirely due to the cold.

‘Malfoy?’ he asks, staring down at the pale haired boy, unable to quite believe he’s there.

Draco peers up at him, his arms crossed tight across his wool-clad chest in an apparent attempt to stave off the cold. The beanie and scarf (wrapped twice around his neck) do nothing to reduce the flush of pink across his nose and cheeks that Harry can see even from his second-floor window.

Despite this, there’s that familiar expression of expectant arrogance on his face that would, if not for the fact that Ron has also seen him, almost make Harry wonder if he’s hallucinating. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d hoped to find Draco Malfoy on his doorstep (not that he’d tell anyone that).

‘What’s _he_ doing here?’ Draco says by way of answer, his voice petulant and indignant.

‘Staying over,’ says Harry, nonplussed. ‘What’re you doing here? How do you know where I live?’

Draco flushes, but his shoulders stay stubbornly straight, his jaw set in determination as he peers up at Harry. ‘I found a way for us to fix the issue with our potions experiment, but I need your help.’

Harry blinks. ‘You want to—Malfoy, bloody hell it’s the middle of the night and you want to talk about homework? _Now_?’

Draco lifts his chin, though the pink across his cheeks deepens. ‘Yes,’ he says imperiously. ‘Now. It’s…important.’

Harry sighs. He’s not really that upset. After all, any excuse to spend a bit more time with Draco is fine by him. But it’s the principal.

‘Alright,’ he says, pulling back into the house. ‘Hang on, I’ll let you in.’

‘No,’ Draco calls quickly.

Harry pauses and leans back out the window. ‘No?’

‘I told you I need your help. We have to…there’s something I need.’

‘In the middle of the night?’

Draco rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breathe. ‘Yes, in the middle of the bloody night,’ he says. ‘Merlin, do you _always_ have to state the bloody obvious?’

‘Alright, alright, no need to get crabby.’

‘It’s fucking freezing out here, Potter, and you’re quibbling with me over the time. Just get out here already. Honestly.’

Despite himself, Harry chuckles. ‘Alright. Hold your horses.’

Draco frowns. ‘Horses? What horses.’

‘It’s an expression. Aren’t you taking Muggle Studies?’

‘Taking Muggle Studies doesn’t mean I suddenly know everything about Muggles. you know.’

Harry grins. ‘Sorry. I just assumed, you know, since you’re such a know-it-all.’

A heavy sigh sounds behind him, and Harry glances back to see Ron flop onto his back. ‘Merlin, would you two shut up? Some of us want to sleep you know.’

Harry grins. ‘I’m going, I’m going.’

Draco, meanwhile, is sputtering outside. ‘I beg your pardon, I do not—what the hell are you doing?’ Draco’s eyes go wide and he uncrosses his arms, taking a step forward as he gapes up at Harry who has swung a leg out over the windowsill.

Harry peers down at the drop, measuring the distance. ‘What’s it look like?’ says Harry, ‘I’m coming down to meet you.’

‘What, you can’t use a _door_?’

‘Can’t you?’ Harry shoots back. ‘Alright, move back a bit would you?’

‘Tell Malfoy to take you to Episky’s,’ says Ron sleepily from the bed. ‘They have your file there, and they’ll be able to floo Pomfrey.’

‘Oh ha ha. I’ll be fine.’

‘Yep, sure,’ says Ron, and rolls over, waving a hand in the air as if he can’t be bothered to deal with Harry’s denials. ‘Just be sure to land on your feet. A broken leg is a lot easier to heal than a broken neck.’

Harry shakes his head in exasperation. Honestly. It’s just a small drop.

He rechecks the distance and slips off the edge of the window, holding onto the ledge as long as possible to make the drop to the ground slower. He lands hard, the impact shooting up his leg and he winces. Draco sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth. He steps forward and smacks Harry upside the head.

‘There’s a perfectly good door _right there_! Bloody hell, Potter, you really do have a death wish, don’t you?’

‘Oh c’mon, it was a tiny drop. Barely even hurt.’

Draco narrows his eyes. ‘Barely? What do you mean _barely_ hurt?’

Harry shrugs it off, rolling his ankle around in a circular motion to ease away the remainder of the already-fading pain. He tests his weight on it and only feels a minor twinge. He grins at Draco.

‘See? Good as new.’

Draco crosses his arms. ‘You are an idiot.’

‘And yet here we are,’ says Harry, and does a little jig on the spot. ‘Alright, let’s go do whatever it is that couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour of the morning.’

Draco arches one eyebrow, glancing over Harry with a sigh of disapproval. ‘For the love of Morgana, Potter, I feel cold just _looking_ at you,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Only you’d go outside in the middle of the night without even a decent _shirt_ on. Here.’

Before Harry’s brain can catch up to what’s happening, Draco shrugs out of his thick woollen coat, sweeps it around, and places it over Harry’s rapidly cooling arms. He has to step close, bringing with him the scent of cinnamon and eggnog, and (as the coat settles around him like a warm hug) Harry is left feeling squishy and lightheaded.

‘I...thanks,’ says Harry as Draco steps away.

He pulls the coat—deliciously warm and smelling of that cinnamon coffee—tight around him.

Draco is clad now in a thick, navy turtleneck that clings to him in ways that make Harry’s insides squirm.

‘So,’ says Harry, trying not to flush. ‘Where to?’

Draco tilts his head back down the street. ‘This way,’ he says, and turns away from Harry, not bothering to look back as he stalks down the street.

Harry can only marvel at him. How is it that even in the freezing cold in the middle of the night, Draco Malfoy can look so…so…well, so like a Malfoy?

Harry shakes his head and trails after him, burying his hands within the pockets of Draco’s large, woolly coat. He turns his face into the collar, inhaling that coffee and cinnamon scent that he’s come to associate with the Slytherin over the last year.

They walk for a few minutes in silence, their breath puffing in the clear, crisp night air. The moon is full and bright and reflects off of Draco’s hair, making it appear to almost glow in the mixed light from the moon and the dim lamps lining the street.

Harry watches him, trying not to be obvious, but unable to keep from staring. As unable as he’s been all year so far.

Right from the moment that they returned to Hogwarts for their eighth year, Draco has been different. Sure, he still _looks_ the same, but there’s something else. Something about him that keeps drawing Harry’s eye back to him over and over despite the veil of awkward tension that has hung between them since Draco’s trial.

Now, though, that awkward tension has petered out into something that is almost…friendly.

Draco glances back at him, one eyebrow raised sceptically. ‘Could you walk any slower, Potter?’

Harry grins back. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t really expecting to be taking a midnight walk being, you know, it being midnight. Plus, I’m still waking up.’

Draco rolls his eyes. ‘Are you going to complain the whole way?’

‘That depends. How far are we going?’

Draco shakes his head, turning away from Harry to watch where he’s going. He walks the same way he’s always walked, with his chin held high, his shoulders pulled back, his strides equal and measured. As if everything he does is calculated. Has a purpose. And yet…

Harry shakes himself out of his thoughts. Puzzling over the conundrum that is Draco Malfoy has never gotten Harry anywhere (except maybe flustered and wishing to be alone).

He clears his throat and says awkwardly. ‘So, I assume you’re not going to tell me where we’re going?’

‘You assume correctly.’

‘Right. You’re not going to murder me, are you?’

Draco simply throws him an exasperated look.

Harry grins. ‘Right. Sorry.’ He breathes in Draco’s scent and tries not to let it cloud his thoughts. ‘How’s your break going?’

‘Perfectly horrendous,’ says Draco matter-of-factly. ‘Somehow, Pansy’s mother managed to talk mine into horse breeding, so I came home to find my horse pregnant and unrideable. Not that she bothered to talk to me before getting my horse knocked up. And, of course, Winter needs constant attention so we’re stuck at the Parkinson’s—not that she bothered to tell me _that,_ either. I’d have rather stayed at Hogwarts than stay with the Parkinsons.’

Harry chuckles. ‘Oh, so that’s the reason?’

‘The reason for what?’

‘This little jaunt.’

‘No, I told you. There’s something I need for our potions assignment.’

‘Uh huh, sure.’

Draco shoots him a glare. ‘And what about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘Why didn’t you stay at Hogwarts? Why are you here? Alone?’

Harry shrugs. ‘The Weasleys invited me for Christmas.’

‘So why not stay there?’

Harry laughs. ‘I would, normally, but…it’s just so crowded. I mean, it’s always crowded, but I guess I’ve never really been there before with _everyone_ and, well, I suppose I got a little overwhelmed. Anyway, it made sense to just stay here until Christmas day.’ Harry, feeling a bit ungrateful, shrugs self-consciously. ‘Anyway,’ he adds, ‘It’s been kind of nice to have my own space. A proper one, I mean. Something that’s actually mine.’

He glances up, straight into Draco’s curious grey eyes, and Harry’s face goes hot. He swipes a hand through his hair and glances away, not having meant to reveal so much. When did Malfoy get so easy to talk to?

‘So then why have Weasley here?’ asks Draco.

Harry grins sheepishly. ‘Well, turns out I’m not great at being _completely_ on my own.’

Draco nods, facing forward again. ‘I can understand that,’ he says in a quiet voice.

The street curves around a bend and they pass by a few shop fronts in comfortable silence. Still, Harry’s insides squirm. Draco’s coat is warm on his skin, making him feel almost flushed, and he shoots sidelong looks at Draco every few moments, wanting to keep talking but unsure where to go from there. He bites the inside of his mouth, screws up his courage, and opens his mouth.

‘Do you ever—oh wow.’

Harry stops, eyes going wide as he stares at the park spread out before them. He knew, of course, that there was a park at the end of his street. But he’d only visited it once when he first bought the place (and only then because Hermione had insisted he know what the neighbourhood was like).

Draco glances back at him, eyebrows raised. ‘What, you’ve never seen an ice-rink before?’

Harry blinks. He turns his head toward Draco, tearing his gaze away from the large square of ice carved out of the park’s centre, fringed with fir trees and low-hanging fairy lights. ‘Uh, well, sure,’ he says, glancing back toward the gleaming ice. ‘I just didn’t realise there was one here.’

Draco tilts his head. ‘How do you not know there’s an ice-rink at the end of your street?’

Harry flushes. ‘I, uh, don’t go out much.’

Draco snorts. ‘Clearly.’ He shakes his head. ‘Come on then.’ He changes direction, stepping down onto the street and crossing over.

Harry jogs after him. ‘Wait, where are we going?’

Draco rolls his eyes and gestures to the park. ‘Where does it look like?’

‘You want to go skating? Now?’

Draco sighs and glances back at him. ‘Potter, if we’re going to survive tonight, can we just assume that whenever I suggest something that, yes, I mean _now_.’

‘But…I mean, it’s closed, and it’s not like we have any skates—’

Draco steps up onto the footpath on the other side and stops, turning to face Harry, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly familiar expression of scepticism.

‘Not much of a rebel, are you, Potter?’

Harry flushes. ‘We don’t have skates,’ he insists.

Draco grins and withdraws his wand. ‘Are you a wizard or aren’t you?’ he says, twirling his wand in his hand. ‘C’mon Potter. Live a little for once. I can conjure you skates if you don’t know the spell. I used to do this all the time back home.’

He turns back toward the park and saunters onwards.

Harry hurries after him, his stomach twisting into knots. ‘But, uh, what about your…thing?’

Draco quirks an eyebrow, smirking. ‘We have time.’

He steps up to the boundary around the ice-rink, leaning over to peer at the smooth ice stretched out before them. He wrinkles his nose.

‘It’s a bit small,’ he says. ‘Good thing there are only two of us.’ he climbs up over the rail, nimbly dropping down onto the ice on the other side.

He looks up, face flushed pink in the cold, and grins at Harry. ‘You coming or what?’

Harry grabs hold of the rail, staring down at the ice. He chews on the inside of his mouth. ‘I…’ he winces and closes his eyes. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

Harry’s shoulders hunch inwards. ‘I don’t know how to skate,’ he mumbles.

Silence. He keeps his eyes screwed shut, bracing himself for the laughter or the scathing insults. Except they don’t come.

The smell of coffee and eggnog washes over him and Harry opens his eyes to find Draco standing directly opposite him on the other side of the rail.

His eyes shine in the moonlight reflected off the ice and he offers Harry a tentative smile.

‘Well,’ he says, and tugs on Harry’s arm. ‘All the more reason for you to get over here. Come on, I’ll help you.’

Harry chews on his mouth. ‘You will?’

Streetlights and the glow of the moon cast conflicting shadows over Draco’s face, making him seem like a shadowy ghost rather than a real person.

Feeling suddenly disoriented, Harry grips the rail tight, and something shifts in Draco’s expression. His eyes soften, his mouth quirking up into a smile that is pleased and hopeful and so sweet it sets Harry’s stomach squirming all over again.

‘Of course,’ he says and then smirks. ‘We can’t have our beloved saviour falling on his face at the Christmas Fair, can we?’

Harry scoffs. ‘Who says I’m going to the Christmas Fair?’

‘I do,’ says Draco imperiously. ‘Now get over here. Are you a Gryffindor or not?’

Harry rolls his eyes and reluctantly climbs over the rail.

His feet slide over the ice, and he would have fallen if not for Draco’s steadying hands at his elbow and the small of his back.

‘Easy now,’ says Draco and his breath ghosts over Harry’s ear, sending shivers down his spine.

Harry swallows and glances over at him. Draco’s eyes shine pale silver, a reflection of the ice in the moonlight and he smirks, a challenge in his eyes.

Harry, never one to back down from a challenge, straightens up. ‘Alright, let’s do this.’

After the twentieth time or so that Harry falls, he sits stubbornly on the ice and refuses to get back up. ‘Ice-skating is stupid,’ he grumbles, ignoring the cold seeping into his now damp pyjama pants and trying (and failing) not to pout.

‘Well,’ says Draco, coming to a stop in front of him with an annoyingly perfect _swish_ on the ice. He looks down at Harry with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. ‘It’s good to know that you’re not perfect at _everything_.’

Harry rolls his eyes and flicks ice shavings at him. ‘Shut up.’

Draco chuckles. ‘Come on then,’ he says, reaching out to forcibly pull Harry to his feet. ‘Let’s get you out of the cold.’

Harry’s feet slide around the ice as he’s pulled to his feet and he sucks in a breath, gripping Draco’s hand tightly to keep from falling. Their breath mingles in the cool air as they shuffle slowly back to the edge of the rink.

Draco vanishes the thin blades of ice as they step over onto the grass, and Harry sighs with relief as his feet meet sturdy ground. He hangs onto Draco’s hand a moment longer than necessary, reluctant to let go. Draco’s grip is firm and oddly comforting, fitting neatly into Harry’s own hand. Harry swallows and releases the other man.

‘So,’ says Harry, glancing sheepishly at Draco and hoping that he attributes the delay to Harry’s clumsiness. ‘That was…fun.’

Draco snorts and rolls his eyes. ‘You don’t have to pretend,’ he says dryly. ‘It was quite obvious that you hated it.’

‘I didn’t,’ Harry objects. ‘Well, at least not _all_ of it.’

Draco stuffs his hands into his pockets, still looking skeptical. He glances up at the early morning sky, his nose pink. ‘Alright,’ he says, shaking himself. ‘Let’s get moving.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Not far,’ he says, striding off across the park.

Harry follows, jogging to catch up to him. ‘Are you sure you’re not cold?’ he asks, frowning at Draco’s pink cheeks. ‘You can have your coat back, if you like?’

‘And be responsible for you freezing to death? I think not,’ he says. ‘And anyway, we’ll warm up in a minute.’

Draco ducks between a few trees, leading Harry up a small hill.

He stops and looks around. ‘Alright,’ he says. ‘This should do.’

He waves his hand, and a moment later, a small blanket spreads out across the frosty grass. He drops down and looks up at Harry expectantly. Bemused, but curious, Harry drops down onto the blanket beside him.

Draco glances across at him. ‘Uh, actually, I am going to need my coat back,’ he says. He looks freezing, with his puffing breath and pink-tinted nose and bright, starry eyes ,and Harry instantly feels guilty, wrapped up in the delicious warmth of Draco’s coat.

‘Oh, right,’ he says, flushing. With a twinge of reluctance, he peels the coat off. ‘Here.’

The faintest of smirks twitches at Draco’s lips. ‘Relax, Potter,’ he says, digging through the pockets of his coat. ‘It’s just for a moment.’

‘It’s fine,’ Harry says quickly, ‘I’m fine, really. Besides you look pretty cold, so—’

Draco pulls out a small basket from one of the pockets, enlarges it, and opens the lid, withdrawing a mug and shoving it at Harry, effectively cutting him off.

Harry glances down at the mug as Draco continues to riffle through the wicker basket. ‘Er, what’s this—’

Draco leans over, a tall, navy blue thermos tumbler in his hand. He pours something dark and frothy into Harry’s mug, and steam that smells of cream and chocolate wafts up into Harry’s face. Harry blinks down at his now full mug, warmth already spreading through his hands.

‘Er, thanks,’ he says.

Draco shrugs one shoulder. Without looking at Harry, he holds out a pastry. Harry takes it without thinking. It’s sticky and crumbly and Harry’s mouth waters just looking at it.

‘It’s not poisoned,’ Draco says dryly, one eyebrow raised at him.

Harry flushes and hurriedly takes a bite. Only, in his embarrassment, he shoves too much of the pastry in his mouth at once. Heat floods his face as he attempts to chew through the too-large portion of sticky pastry.

Draco snorts and looks away quickly. He takes a more reasonably-sized bite of his own pastry and sips at the hot chocolate.

Harry, finally managing to swallow his mouthful, takes a deep breath. ‘Er, thanks,’ he says, and gestures with his mug. ‘It’s good.’

‘Of course it is,’ says Draco, shooting him a sideways look.

Harry grins. ‘Yeah, right. Sorry.’

He eats his pastry and drinks his chocolate, embarrassment clawing at him. How is it that despite the fact that they’ve agreed to get along (as a condition of them coming back to school), every time Harry tries to talk to Draco—to _really_ talk—he just can’t seem to find the right words to say?

Well, no, he knows how. He knows _exactly_ how. It’s not the getting along that’s the issue. It’s everything else. It’s the trial, and the fire, and the manor, and _all_ of sixth year. It’s years of aggressive rivalry underlying this strange and barbed truce they’ve developed. Yet all of that history doesn’t stop Harry’s stomach from tying itself in knots every time Draco so much as glances Harry’s way, that infuriatingly superior smirk lifting the corners of his mouth, making Harry wonder exactly how they taste.

He takes a deep breath and focuses on his chocolate pastry.

‘You know, Mum and I used to do this all the time,’ says Draco quietly, holding his mug tightly between two hands.

Harry glances sideways. He grins, and, unable to help himself, nudges Draco’s elbow. ‘What? Wander around in the dark to go ice-skating?’

Draco, staring off into the distance, nods. ‘Yeah,’ he says softly, not rising to Harry’s teasing tone. ‘It was like a tradition. I don’t really remember how it started; I was too little. But every year, on Christmas Eve, she would come into my room and wake me up, and together we’d get all rugged up and walk off into the grounds. There’s this river that flows up behind the manor that I was never allowed to play near. Except…except for Christmas Eve, when we’d sneak up there during the night. Mother would cast this spell that made the ice stable and smooth, and we’d just skate around for hours. After, we’d sit and drink hot chocolate and eat danishes and watch the sun rise on Christmas morning.’

He goes silent. He’s still staring off into nowhere, but there’s the slightest lift to his lips—a small, bittersweet smile that lingers on his mouth and in his eyes. Harry can only stare, suddenly quite unable to breathe. He drops his gaze to his own mug of deliciously warm cocoa, made just the way he likes it, and swallows hard.

Draco glances sideways at him. ‘I have a confession,’ he says, his cheeks turning a darker red. ‘I didn’t really have an idea on the Potions assignment.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘No. I, uh, I heard that you don’t really have any Christmas traditions and well…I thought…’ Draco shrugs, gesturing around at the park.

Cold seeps into Harry, spreading through his limbs and chasing away all feelings of warmth and happiness. He frowns.

‘So, what?’ he asks, his voice hard. ‘This is a pity thing?’

Draco glances up, frowning. ‘Pity?’

‘Show the poor orphan saviour what he’s missing out on? Is that it?’

‘What? No, that’s not—’

Harry pushes himself to his feet. ‘You know, you didn’t have to drag me all the way out here just to—’

‘For fuck’s sake, Potter would you shut up?’ Draco snaps, rising to meet Harry. ‘Bloody Merlin why do you have to _do_ that? Here I am trying to do something _nice_ —’

‘Nice?’ Harry laughs bitterly.

Draco narrows his eyes. ‘Yes, _nice_. I’ve never shared this with anyone, Potter. But I shared it with _you_.’

Harry hesitates. ‘Why?’ he asks guardedly.

Draco rolls his eyes, turning away and shrugging with his hands. ‘Because,’ he says. ‘Because no one should be alone on Christmas.’

Harry is silent a moment, staring at him. ‘I wasn’t alone.’

Draco glances back over at him. ‘Yes, well. I didn’t know that.’

‘Technically, it’s not even Christmas.’

Draco sighs and runs a hand over his face. ‘Yes. I know that too. But you said yourself, on Christmas day you’ll be at the Weasleys and I didn’t think…’

‘You didn’t think what?’

Draco turns back around to face him, ‘I didn’t think you’d be inclined to leave your nice warm home and all your Weasels to come traipsing about in the snow with _me_ under the pretence of homework. Now can’t you just shut up and just enjoy the fact that I decided to share this with you? Merlin. I’m trying to make a gesture here.’

Harry frowns. ‘A gesture?’

Draco flushes. ‘Yes. A bloody gesture. And a great, fat lot of good it’s done me, too.’ He shakes his head, turning away to run a hand through his hair.

He’s stopped slicking it back, and it falls around his face in fine, loose, white strands. Harry, despite his flair of temper (or perhaps because of it), has the sudden impulse to run his hands through those strands. To tighten his fingers through them and find out what Draco Malfoy’s lips _really_ taste like.

He swallows and looks away. ‘I don’t understand,’ he says. ‘You came all the way out here, to…to what? Throw rocks at my window and take me ice-skating?’

Draco stares at him with wide grey eyes and just like that the penny drops.

It takes saying the words out loud for him to realise. He’d said it himself, hadn’t he? Draco could have used the door. But instead…instead he threw rocks at Harry’s bedroom window. In the middle of the night. To drag him off for a midnight skate in the park, just the two of them. With hot chocolate and warmed danishes and a sunrise to boot.

Harry’s eyes go wide and he stares at Draco in disbelief.

A gesture.

A grand gesture.

Draco flushes, silver eyes flicking away quickly before resettling on Harry’s face, his expression set in embarrassed determination.

‘Well,’ he says, his voice more shy than condescending. ‘Took you long enough to figure it out. And here I thought I’d—mph.’

Harry surges forward, grabbing Draco by his stupidly nice-looking turtleneck sweater, yanking him forward and kissing him on his stupidly nice-looking mouth.

Draco’s surprise is fleeting. So, too, is his indignation. His hands fly up to Harry’s waist, his fingers digging in as he returns the kiss with as much enthusiasm as Harry could ever hope for.

They break apart, and Harry is momentarily stunned by his own actions. He stares at Draco with big eyes, his mouth parted, his breathing slightly ragged.

‘I…I don’t…’

Draco grins. ’Oh, shut up, Potter,’ he says, and kisses him again.

***

‘I don’t believe it,’ says Blaise, denial plastered all over his face even as he stares down at the photographic evidence.

Colin shrugs apologetically.

‘Believe it,’ says Ron, chuckling as he taps the photos spread across the table they’re gathered at. ‘And pay up.’

Blaise rolls his eyes, grumbling as he reaches into his pocket.

‘The rest of you, too,’ says Ron, gesturing around the table as he takes his prize winnings from Blaise.

Hermione rolls her eyes, sitting back in her seat and shaking her head. Her hair—which she chopped short just before their return to school—bounces around her face, the curls free and unrestrained.

‘I have to say,’ she says, eyeing Ron with a smile, ‘I am impressed with how well you’re taking this.’

Pansy snorts. ‘I’m impressed that he won,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘How did you know, anyway?’

Ron grins, piling up all his money and shrugging. ‘I’ve had some time to get used to it.’

They all look at him.

‘What exactly does that mean?’ asks Blaise.

Ron smirks. ‘Harry talks in his sleep.’

The confusion vanishes from Hermione’s face, replaced by sudden understanding and a small chuckle of amusement. The rest of them frown.

‘I don’t get it,’ says Colin, frowning.

Luna, smiling serenely, rests her chin on her palm. ‘Young love is always on the mind.’

Ron laughs. ‘You could say that,’ says Ron. ‘Harry started mumbling Malfoy’s name in his sleep about…oh, six months ago? Didn’t take me long to figure out why.’

A chorus of groans go around the table.

‘Sleep talking,’ Blaise mutters shaking his head.

‘I call cheating,’ says Ginny, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Ron clearly had inside information.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Ron snorts. ‘Miss Make A Grand Gesture.’

Ginny sniffs, lifting her chin. ‘That was Luna’s idea, not mine,’ she says primly. ‘It’s not _my_ fault Malfoy overheard and decided to try it out.’

‘And yet,’ says Blaise, and gestures at Colin. ‘You somehow managed to con Camera-Boy here into following them around for a whole night. Tell me, how _exactly_ did you know Draco would be sneaking over there?’

Ginny grins and gives him a wink. ‘I’m not sure _what_ you are talking about.’

Colin, flushed and just pleased to be included, tries to stammer out an excuse. ‘It did feel a little bit like spying, but Ginny made a compelling argument.’

Victory lights Blaise’s face, and he reaches over to tug playfully at the braid in Ginny’s hair. ‘Somehow, that does not surprise me,’ he says.

‘What’re we going to talk about now?’ asks Pansy, glancing around at the unconventional group of Slytherins, Gryffindors, and Luna.

‘Oh,’ says Blaise, still smirking at Ginny. ‘I’m sure we’ll think of something. Potter and Draco can’t be the _only_ thing we all have in common.’

Pansy groans and rolls her eyes. ‘Ten galleons says those two—’ she points at Blaise and Ginny, ‘—are snogging before the end of the day,’ she says in disgust.

Ron grins and leans forward. ‘I’ll take that bet,’ he says.

‘Of course you will,’ Hermione mutters. ‘That’s what got us into this mess to start with.’

Laughter echoes around the table, the money and the photos momentarily forgotten in favour of the comfort of friendship—a friendship that started with a bet and ended with a mutual relief that, finally, they could all stop pretending to hate each other.

Harry and Draco were, of course, nowhere to be found, the two of them having found yet _another_ reason to disappear—more than likely attempting to reenact the photo that was the purpose of the group’s meeting.

In the photo, Harry reaches out for the door of his flat, turning back to glance at Draco with a shy smile. Draco grins, leans forward, and plants a soft kiss on Harry’s lips, and Harry’s face lights up brighter than Christmas morning.

**Author's Note:**

> I chose a combination of prompts for this piece (ice-skating, moonlit winter scene, Draco finds out Harry never had a Christmas) and I hope I did them justice.  
> The title "Rocks At My Window" came from a Bridgit Mendler song, who is not country or 90s/2000s but has a similar vibe. It's pretty ridiculously upbeat and partially responsible for the light and fluffy mood of the piece. Anyways, I hope this brings you a bit of feel good fuzzies in the lead up to Christmas :)


End file.
